


Don't Wait to Lay Your Armor Down

by thesupplanter



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Retail, Gen, M/M, holiday prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2871923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesupplanter/pseuds/thesupplanter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surviving another year working retail during the holiday season was always something worth bragging about. </p><p>For Anders, it meant being able to make a difference, small and dangerous but good.<br/>For Garrett, it meant watching, wondering, and having to decide what's worth the risk.</p><p>Somehow, it came back to that place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the lights will flash and fade away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



The day after Christmas was always hell, in spite of what the managers tried to tell them.

It wasn't as bad as the day after Thanksgiving, but it was close. There were plenty of people coming in to see what was on sale- wrapping paper, obnoxious holiday-themed socks, gingerbread house kits- the list went on. Too often, they would find something already discounted and try to barter with the first store employee they could find to get it for even less. Then came argument of _well it was on the sale rack so it should be on sale_ \- a battle Anders had fought several times.

The Circle was a department store that had very simple rules for its workers: the customer is always right; you are not in control; lose too many sales, your job will follow. He really couldn't stand working there, not in the slightest, but he had bills, minimal though they were. Sometimes the only thing that got him through the day was knowing he'd worked in worst places, and knowing he couldn't go back to that.

At the moment, though, Anders deeply considered it.

Somehow he was delegated to the return table, where people would bring gifts from relatives that weren't satisfying in one way or another to return them. This meant he spent most of the morning dealing with angry parents bringing back toys that made noise, or teenagers whose parents clearly weren't paying attention to their age or interests. Often enough, he dealt with clothes that simply weren't the right size, or were missing a button, or had a broken zipper, and those people were reasonable enough.

He dropped the clothes into a bin under the table, larger items stacking up behind him. Other employees cycled through, returning items to their departments or to the back as appropriate. None of them wanted to be there any more than Anders, though they seemed to have a different way of dealing with it, faces deadpan with matching voices, a poor mimicry of human interaction. It always set him on edge, how easily they pretended, but he didn't hold it against them.

Finally he had a chance of a break, sliding out of his seat and walking as quickly as he could to the back room. It was a practiced walk, turning down empty aisles and arranging his face in a way that left potential inquirers considering him too busy to trouble. Most days he was more than happy to help, even if it meant so many sidetracks that he had to stay late to finish his work, but he'd been there since four-am. Anders wasn't a morning person, especially not after a holiday.

The lounge- if you could call it that- was empty when he got there, save for Garrett- which was odd.

Sliding into the chair across from him, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Mmph-" Garrett swallowed what was probably a piece of the dessert in front of him, answering, "They asked the overnighters if we wanted to come in for more hours. Means we'll get holiday pay, which never happens. Figured it couldn't hurt."

Anders reached out and snagged some of Garrett's chocolate orange. "I would have called in if I knew you would be here."

Garrett grinned at him, knowing the game well enough. They didn't work together often, with Anders working the floor during business hours and Garrett stocking overnight, but there was a good three- or four hour overlap during the week where one would arrive before the other left. Garrett had a habit of sneaking around in street clothes, pretending to be a customer to talk to Anders without actual shoppers getting upset.

For a long time, Anders assumed he did that with everyone. He'd been with the company for years, but only at this location for a few months- he moved around a lot. It's not as though he could judge if it were true- Anders had a habit of flirting with everyone, even people he knew were beyond his reach. It felt good to play the game, and he certainly didn't mind the idea of playing it with Garrett for a while.

As they got closer and closer to the holidays, though, Anders started having doubts. The managers decided that, for the holiday season, the uniform would consist of Christmas sweaters- which had been chosen at random by the department leaders and handed out to employees. Of course, they conceded that workers could wear their own sweaters if they were appropriately 'festive', but Anders wasn't sure he could rationalize spending money on these sweaters.

For the first week or so, he wore his delegated sweater- a horrible shade of green fabric, itchy and ill-tempered, embellished with sequins that were glued on, and the world's worst possible red faux-fur trim. How he hated that sweater. He vented to anyone who would listen (or who were standing close enough that he wasn't talking to himself) how he just wanted something without fur- something with feathers, maybe? But certainly not fur.

So when Garrett walked over to where he was folding shirts one night, as he often did, Anders expected him to just start unfolding them, as he often did (only to fold them properly again). Instead he dropped a plastic bag on the table, mumbled something about how no one puts feathers on sweaters, and wandered off. Anders stared at him as he went, confused, before untying the bag to see what it held.

The next day he came in wearing the sweater; it was a dark, bright cerulean, knit in a scalloped plate pattern across the belly, with large patches of black over his shoulders. Across the chest came carefully arranged colorwork- gold cats and silver birds. The sleeves were long, the black ends ribbed and covering most of his hands, which made him indescribably happy. One of the managers tried to cause a fuss about its apparent lack of holiday charm, but Anders just ignored him. He wasn't going to be here for too much longer anyway, he reasoned with himself.

Garrett didn't say anything about it when he inevitably wandered over that night, but neither did he stop grinning. He just made a habit of pulling errant coppery-blonde hair off Anders' back, something of which Anders wasn't allowing himself to be suspicious.

He reached out now and picked at a few strands from Anders' shoulders. "Do anything for Christmas?"

"Not really. I'm not the best at celebrations." Anders shrugged and stole another piece. "Plus I had to be here until 8 on Christmas Eve, so I didn't exactly have a bunch of free time. What about you?"

Without any conviction, Garrett swatted at Anders' hand. "Stayed home. Carver was running a patrol early in the day but he was home in time to make dinner. I think Bethany was out on a date but she wouldn't tell me."

There was something comforting in the way Garrett talked about his family. Maybe it was the fact that Anders hadn't ever really had one, and had decided they were things of fiction. But Garrett talked about his brother and sister like he'd hung the stars in the sky to keep them safe at night; he'd practically raised them since his father died when he was sixteen, and when their mother followed years later, he took the official task on his shoulders.

It was admirable. Anders was almost jealous of that kind of loyalty.

"When do you get off today?"

Anders had to think about that for a moment, since opening shifts weren't common for him. "Um... I think I'm here until two?"

Nodding, Garrett continued, "Me too. I've got the car today, if you want to skip riding the bus."

_Shit_. Mouth suddenly dry, Anders had to swallow harshly and reach for a dismissive voice. "It's fine, I people-watch most of the way."

"Yeah, but you've been collecting boxes, right?"

Anders had been avoiding eye contact, as was his way, but now he looked at Garrett. His face was soft and rounded, the illusion of angles earned from his dark brown beard. His eyes were a honeyed brown normally, but now seemed darker, more intense, as they stared back at Anders. Dropping his gaze again, his eyes settled onto the splash of red across his freckled nose- whether a birthmark, a tattoo, or a scar, Garrett would never explain, but neither was he shy about it.

"Yeah. I'm- probably going to end up moving again soon, so boxes are useful."

Garrett didn't answer immediately, as if thinking that over. The bastard knew, he had to know; it'd been a game after all, Anders was just trying to play the wrong one, and everything was going to fall apart again.

He was a fool.


	2. I see it shining when my eyes close

There had to be a better way for him to have brought this up.

Problem was, Garrett was running out of time. He had a friend in PR, he knew Anders was only going to be there a few more weeks- he didn't know why, he didn't know where he was going, but he knew he was leaving. He wasn't entirely sure _why_  that was such a problem, of course. Whether his suspicions were right or not had nothing to do with it, though, he was sure.

Anders didn't panic when Garrett suggested the post-shift outing, really, not in the traditional sense. Something in his shoulders just collapsed, which made him want to immediately call it off and apologize. It had been a long time since he'd felt the need to be so gentle with someone- not since Bethany and Carver were small (and that was more for Bethany than Carver). From the first moment he'd seen Anders, though, there was something about him that just demanded careful handling.

His father told him, when he was young and the twins were just starting school, that he had to be careful with some people.

"There's a spark in you, Garrett. And it will recognize itself in others. And when it does, listen."

Years later, when he was trying to explain the same thing to Bethany, their mother insisted it was darkness, not a spark. Garrett didn't know which was more true, but had met plenty of people with one or the other in his life.

He thought it was the darkness in Anders that looked for his, and had been trying to find a way to answer it for months.

Sitting on the hood of his car, waiting for Anders to scramble from the store, Garrett kept turning over what he knew in the back of his mind, what he thought, what he wanted to be true. Part of him knew there were worse things- Maker, he'd done worse himself in the years he spent keeping Bethany and Carver fed and housed. That had to be what worried him; intentions, motivations. _Why?_

"Your eyebrows are in danger of swallowing your freckles, Garrett."

He startled, more from the use of his name than Anders' voice. Most people in the store called him Hawke, his last name normally yielding a faster reaction than his first. Though it seemed that wasn't as true as he thought as he spun on the metal to look at Anders.

Two shopping carts full of collapsed boxes had come with him, the cardboard sticking up at odd angles. Garrett jumped down to open the back door, figuring the back seat would fit more than the trunk. He didn't mention the way Anders kept glancing back at the front door, as if expecting someone to come after him. He didn't mention the boxes in the center of the cart, assembled and closed and, as he picked them up, obviously full of something.

Anders was watching him, he could feel the clay-brown eyes on the side of his face. He didn't mind- really, he never minded when Anders watched him, he rather enjoyed it usually. He just wondered what was drawing his gaze this time- anger, suspicion, guilt?

He waited until they were off the property to ask. "Is it something you'll talk about?"

"May as well." The note of defeat, of acceptance in Anders' voice crackled down Garrett's spine. "Can't imagine not talking would make a big difference, considering the situation I've found myself in. Do you know where Ferelden Circle is?"

The sudden shift in thought delayed Garrett's answer, but he nodded. "Yeah, why?"

He glanced over in time to see a smirk on Anders' lips as he explained, "If you want to hear the story, it's a long one. Since we've got time, I need to pick up a few other boxes. Or do you have other intentions for me?"

Garrett wasn't sure whether he was aroused or insulted. "We've got time. Start talking."

Anders sighed, pulling at a loose strand of yarn on the end of his sleeve. Garrett had been reasonably proud of finding the damned thing, despite its lack of feathers that Anders seemed to have his heart set on. The black on the shoulders broadened Anders, gave him a physical impression to match his snark and suavity. And it was heavier than the one Anders had been given, which made Garrett less worried about the fact that he seemed utterly opposed to wearing a proper coat.

The story Anders gave him was one he didn't want to believe, but had no choice.

"I was twelve when my father told me I wasn't welcome there anymore. I can't imagine what I'd done, at that point, but it was apparently obvious enough to everyone else. I ended up in one of those /Magi/ homes, where they send children who don't belong anywhere else. I'd heard enough horror stories- at the hands of my father, no less- that I didn't intend to stick around. But every time I ran, they found me, and brought me back. My insolence was never well received."

"The last time- second to last, properly- the last time they caught me, they sent me off to a Chantry juvenile detention center. I think at the time they still told people they were helping troubled children develop skills to be functioning members of society, rather than admitting they were just jails for minors. I was officially there for a year, though that doesn't include the time spent in the hospital- it seemed the boys there knew whatever was wrong with me, just as my father had."

Garrett had to force himself to relax his hands more than once, blood flowing back into them slowly as he gripped the wheel. Anders paused his tale to give directions, leading them to an old brick building that was less than glamorous, but had a character to it that endeared it to Garrett. Without being asked, Garrett stepped out and grabbed more than half of the collapsed boxes, following Anders' lead to the building. He wasn't sure of their purpose now, but there had to be one.

_He is moving, after all,_  Garrett reminded himself. _He'll need them eventually_.

Anders continued once they'd collected the rest of the boxes- Garrett counted eight, including the three in the car already.

"Once I got out, I was homeless. If I'd managed to stay until I was released at eighteen, I would have had a better chance of getting help in finding work and a place to live, but I couldn't. And it is astoundingly difficult to find work when you look homeless, which I fairly consistently did. I survived off the few scattered shelters- which weren't much safer than the Magi home- and a few shops that handed out excess food at the end of the day. It wasn't easy, it wasn't good- but it worked."

"Eventually I ran into Neria- we were at the same home- and she helped me get back on my feet. I crashed at her place long enough to clean up and get a job, and when I could pay my own bills, she talked to her landlord to get my rent as low as possible. And I've been doing that ever- Oh, you need to turn here."

It took a moment for Garrett to react, and he was glad now more than ever that the roads had been cleared. Anders continued to give directions, and Garrett stopped trying to figure out where they were going. He'd lived here long enough to know he'd be able to get home, regardless of where they ended up. Anders obviously had his head about him with directions, which was bizzare considering he routinely got lost in any department other than his own.

The finally stopped outside an unassuming building, new and plain. Anders didn't move to get out, so neither did Garrett.

Anders looked at him, not bothering to hide it this time. Garrett met his eyes, already sure he was right about him.

Without looking away, Anders explained, "The boxes are full of clothes. Things that are considered too damaged to sell at full price or even at a reasonable discount. The Circle just writes them off, takes note of the inventory change, and throws them out. But these clothes- they're warm, they're decent, they're more than anything I'd had while I was trying to get my shit together. And there are so many people trying to do that still that I just- I couldn't keep throwing them out."

Garrett glanced at the building again, noticing for the first time the sign that read /Grey Wardens/. He knew them, he'd- Maker.

"You've been- sneaking clothes out of the store to donate them." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, a low, breathy chuckle in his throat.

When he responded, Anders sounded unsure of the reaction. "Yes. The Grey Wardens are-"

"I know them." Garrett looked at him again, his smile just a little somber. "I- Carver and Bethany were still in school when I took custody, most of their stuff came from the Wardens. I know."

The Grey Wardens were a large nonprofit organization, working to make sure those who needed help could get it. Some buildings had health centers for basic needs- Bethany had gotten her birth control there, to the utter despair of Carver- while others served as food pantries where people paid what they could. This one, he assumed, was one of many clothing hubs.

Anders visibly relaxed, for the first time that day. "Yeah. And that's why I keep moving stores. Because if I stay too long, someone is bound to notice, and I- but I can't stop doing it. A few boxes of practically new clothes every couple of months isn't much, but I know how much of a difference it can make to people. I just had to hope I wouldn't get caught, but you..."

Garrett managed to laugh. "You have to meet my brother and sister. Then it'll make sense." He glaced up at the building, then back at Anders. "So- ready to bring them in?"


	3. and suddenly you're deep enough

"I didn't mean to corner you like that."

Anders raised an eyebrow at Garrett as they pulled up to his building again.

Pressing his lips together for a moment, Garrett continued, "I just- we've never had much. And we've always had to fight for it, and most of the time I managed to do it honestly. So when I see someone doing something like this- I hated the idea that you might be doing it out of greed."

Something about his voice echoed in Anders' chest, and he managed to play coy. "What's the matter, Hawke? No interest in someone who steals for his own benefit?"

"Not really," Garrett answered frankly. "I mean- you didn't- you're not the type. And I knew that. And that's- I don't know. I wanted to be right about you. I wanted to know that when I looked at you, when I wanted to- I thought you needed taking care of. And I wanted to know that wasn't a lie."

Many people had said many things about Anders over the years. He couldn't think of anything that came close to this.

He glanced out the window, up at his building, at the window he knew was his. It had been years since he felt safe. Since he felt like someone was looking out for him, like someone would be there when he fell to carry him home. Neria did her best, but they had too much history sometimes, she knew too many of his nightmares, and he too many of hers.

Garrett had come out of nowhere to tell him it was safe to lay his armor down. And against all odds, Anders believed him.

He leaned over, slowly, carefully, hoping he was right about this.

After a moment, Garrett turned to push into his space, brushing their noses together. An invitation, a risk, a promise.

With more confidence than he had- the way he did most things- Anders kissed him. Garrett's lips were soft, dry, yielding to Anders without hesitation. Maker, but he didn't deserve this, not like this, not someone who so willingly handled him with kid gloves.

Garrett pressed his forehead to Anders', refusing to pull away from him even once the kiss was broken.

He swallowed, his voice thick and crackling when he mumbled, "I was serious. When I said you should meet my family."

Anders felt lightning race up and down his spine again.

"Then let's go."


End file.
